


Flicker

by Ponderess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderess/pseuds/Ponderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't love. This isn't about building a life and growing old together. This is obsession. This is selfish. You want him to succumb to your whims when you can't even keep up with them yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flicker

**Author's Note:**

> I typed this out on my phone today. My thumbs are hurting. I don't know if it was worth it.

It's lonely when he's not there. Like something is missing from your life, something you never knew you wanted until you fell right into it. Now that you're aware of it, how can you ignore it? How can you continue without it? His presence is what you crave, his absence is what occupies your mind and bothers you at the most random of times. You can be among friends but feel lonely still, because you're missing _him_ and nothing — no one is able to fill that gap.

You don't believe in soulmates. It's not like he makes you feel complete — you never were incomplete to begin with. You thought it was impossible for you to get so attached. You're not really the type for it. Still, he is on your mind. The thought of him sneaks up on you, finding unexpected opportunities to get you off track and it bothers you. Maybe that's exactly _why_ it bothers you.

He's not very vocal. His replies are usually short and there's more silence on his part than with anyone you've ever known. The lack of communication with him is maddening. But his gaze is of an intensity that burns you up inside. The feeling of his touch on your skin lingers way longer than his fingers and his mouth ever do. You want to play it off as an entirely physical thing, but the lines are smudged and bleeding into each other and you thought about laying bare your soul at least once or twice — that's something you cannot deny.

It's startling, because you never wanted to do that with anyone. You never thought you could trust anyone to be willing to share with them all that is hidden away inside you. All your little secrets, your unspoken desires, your greatest fears and all this damned insecurity eating away at you — you never thought you would ever even consider sharing it with anyone. It's not that you actually trust him, but you want to and that's fucked up enough in its own way.

You can't say what it is. You know nothing of him, know so little — his hands grabbing your hips, his mouth sucking on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, his weight as he holds you down and slowly enters you. The memories of it keep flashing up in your mind and you don't exactly try to forget them. Instead you go back for more.

But it's not just the sex. It's not just his warm breath in your ear or his low growl when he gets really into it. He strips you of your defences and pins you down and then you don't mind to be defeated by him. Somewhere in the back of your head you wonder if it was always meant to be like that. Maybe you can never overcome him. Maybe he'll always be a step ahead — close enough for you to brush through his hair with your fingertips, but too far away for you to wrap your arms around him, let alone bring him down.

He's brute force on the court and just as overwhelming when he kisses you in the dark of the night. You can tease him and try to wrap him around your finger, but in the end it's you that bends to _his_ will. He's always been painfully oblivious to your charms. It's a part of the challenge and you already consider it a victory when you get him to go down on you before entering you and making you come a second time.

You're never quite sure how long you should stay afterwards when you're exhausted and sweaty and trying to catch your breath. He never asks you to leave, he doesn't turn you away, so you curl up in the sheets beside him, longing. You want more of him, more than just the ecstasy that leaves you feeling strangely hollow in the aftermath. But he grows distant as soon as it's over, as if there's a wall between the two of you whenever he doesn't want something from you. It's like you can only touch him for physical pleasure, everything else is not allowed. He doesn't say it, but he doesn't need to, so you sneak out once he's fallen asleep.

The idea of confessing has crossed your mind occasionally, but then what would you say? "I love you" sounds far too blunt and is missing the point. This isn't love. This isn't about building a life and growing old together. This is obsession. This is selfish. You want him to succumb to your whims when you can't even keep up with them yourself.

Still you try. You bat your eyelashes and give him a coy look until he grabs for you, but you evade him. You keep him at a distance and fend his hands off for as long as you can, even though you want him to take you so badly. Because when you tease him you feel like _you_ have the upper hand, like _you_ are in control. You prolong it as much as possible in the hopes that you'll finally be the one to shove _him_ into the mattress, that you'll finally be the one to dominate _him_ if just for one night. It's your way of fighting to be on top — a battle you never win, because in the end he always flips you onto your back and still you're _happy_.

The room is engulfed in silence afterwards apart from the sound of your raw breathing. You want to fill it with words, fill the emptiness inside you with knowledge. How is his life? How is his family? Does he have siblings, if so how many? What does he like to do apart from playing volleyball? What's keeping him up at night or is he always sleeping soundly? What are his fears? Does he ever feel as small and inferior as you? Everyone has to, once in a while, right? It wouldn't be fair otherwise.

But nothing about this is fair. Nothing about _him_ is fair. The way he can slip in and out of your life at random, completely indifferent to how he occupies your mind at every waking hour. Maybe he just doesn't realise — and he never will if you don't tell him — but you can't shake the feeling that if he knew he wouldn't care.

Curse it, curse it all! You feel so dependent on him and you hate it. That's not how you usually are, that's not how you function and it scares you. Feeling like this scares you, because it's unfamiliar and you don't know how to deal with it. How does anyone cope with something like that?

A part of you wants to run away from him. Leave Miyagi Prefecture, leave Japan if you have to — all to get him out of your life and make that cut you so desperately need to be yourself again. You won't do it, you know you won't. You can be incredibly weak-willed sometimes.

He makes you so angry and frustrated and confused. Damn him and his stoic face and his eyebrows, the way he furrows them in concentration when he thrusts into you. You wonder if he ever sees you there or if you're just an outlet for his desire. You never thought you'd want to be seen by someone whose bed you share for the pleasure of it. You wanted sex with no strings attached, so now that you have it why can't you be satisfied?

You want more. More of his time, more of _him_. You don't want him completely to yourself, but right now it feels like you don't have him at all. Just how there could ever be anything else between you and him except for the rough and passionate nights in his bed and how that should even work, you have no idea though.

You want _something_ and you want it so desperately, but you just don't know what it is. It leaves you restless whenever you're not caught up in the moment with him. You fade in and out of sleep, but it's like your mind never really stops brooding over it. You dream of him, probably. You dream something that fades from your mind as soon as you wake up, but it leaves you in low spirits and as if you're missing something. How can one person long for another so much?

Ending it would probably be the best thing to do, but sometimes you don't know when to quit. So you text him if you can come over like you always do and then wait until he replies with a simple yes like he always does. And you tell yourself that maybe this time it will be different — that maybe you'll be the one to push him down, that maybe you'll dare to rest your head on his bare chest afterwards, that maybe you'll stay the whole night. Or maybe you won't.

Maybe you'll chicken out again. Succumb to his touch sooner or later, because you love his hands on your skin and the taste of his chapped lips. You want him to fill you out until you can't contain your screams any longer and he'll have to kiss you just to shut you up, so no one can hear you when that's all you want. You want to shout into the world just how good he makes you feel in those moments, but instead you bite into his neck when you come and hold onto him as you turn into a shaky mess beneath him, you're eyelids fluttering shut from bliss and exhaustion.

Once you've caught yourself you'll release him from your clutching hands. You'll turn back on him and curl up on your side and pretend to be asleep. When his breath is even you'll slip out of his bed and get dressed. You'll sneak out of his room, out of his home like a thief in the night even though you haven't stolen anything. It feels more like you're leaving something of yourself behind.

By the time you're back in your own bed you'll be too worked up to sleep and you'll think of him and all the things you wanted to do or say and then didn't, because you were scared of the consequences. You'll go in circles, keep returning to that conviction that you just should've said _something_ which always lets you down in the decisive moment until you'll finally exhaust your one-track-mind and pass out. And you'll dream of him, most likely. You always do.


End file.
